


not deaf yet

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Future Fic, M/M, POV Outsider, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out About Derek/Stiles Relationship, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8595634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: John knows when someone else enters the house. He’s not an idiot, after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for Prompt #199 (Sheriff Stilinski) at Fullmoon Ficlet on Livejournal. I knew I wanted to do something with an outsider POV for the Sheriff about Derek and Stiles. One of my favorite things about the Sheriff is his relationship with Stiles, and how he just kind of rolls with the punches sometimes. Whatever’s going on, Stilinski deals with it. And this is no different.

John knows when someone else enters the house. He’s not an idiot, after all.

There’s a thump of someone jumping from the tree to the window, the creak of the sash as it goes up. The footsteps that definitely aren’t Stiles, even though they’re in his son’s room. John presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, pinches tightly and tries to ignore the murmured voices.

It’s impossible to ignore the low creak of bed springs. Or the—no, no, he really doesn’t need to hear this. He grabs the remote and cranks the volume up on the television, and pretends that the crime drama really does drown out everything else.

He might doze in front of the TV, which is a blessing, really, because when he wakes up, there are no more suspicious noises from the upstairs. It might even be safe to go to bed.

He climbs the steps slowly, hears the flush of the toilet when he’s about halfway up. It occurs to him that he could head back down again rather than confront his son and let him know that John knows what’s going on.

It also occurs to him that confronting Stiles might be entertaining, so he continues to the top of the stairs, turning down the hall just as the door to the bathroom opens.

It’s not Stiles.

“Derek,” John says, and Derek flinches slightly.

“Sheriff. Sir.” Derek sounds slightly strangled, as he stands there wearing only boxer briefs, holding a wet washcloth in one hand. “I just—”

John claps him on the shoulder on the way by. “I know, son. Unfortunately, I know. And remember, I told you to call me John.”

“Yes… John.” Derek doesn’t move until John heads into his own room and closes the door. Footsteps move quickly away, and the door to Stiles’s room creaks open and closes gently.

John pinches the bridge of his nose again. It’s as if Derek thinks that if he’s quiet enough, John will somehow forget that he’s here.

He readies himself for bed, climbs under the warm blanket and stretches out. When the creaking begins again, John reaches for the earplugs that sit on his nightstand and works them into his ears. Sometimes blissful silence is what works the best.

In the morning, John is downstairs long before Stiles. He sits at the table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper, glancing at the sports scores. There’s a creak of the sash, then a thump at the side of the house. A moment later, Stiles thunders down the stairs and slides into the kitchen. He stops at the coffee pot, pours himself a cup.

“You know, Dad, those scores are up to date online the moment they happen. The paper is an antiquated source for news, out of date two hours before it’s gone to print.” Stiles sets the cup on the table, grabs for the sugar bowl.

John sets something on the table with a clink, slides his hand close to Stiles’s cup without revealing the object. He doesn’t look away from the paper.

“Dad?”

John lifts his hand.

The key on the table is old. It’s a little smooth on the edges, but John tested it and it still works. It’s been painted with lime green nail-polish that started to chip long ago. John’s had it in an old box of things for years now, hadn’t even thought to go looking for it. Until this morning.

“It was your mom’s,” John says quietly.

Stiles yanks out his chair, sits down with a thump. He laughs a little, pushes at his hair. “Um. You kept her house key. And we’ve never changed the locks?”

“Never changed the locks. Just kept it, figured maybe you’d need it if you lost yours.” John picks up his coffee, takes a long sip. “You kept yours on that lanyard she gave you, and you never lost that. You’re twenty years old, and you still have that lanyard.”

“I do,” Stiles says quietly. “So why….” His voice trails off as he picks up the key, pinched between two longer fingers.

“Give it to Derek,” John replies. He puts the paper down, leans on the table. “Two years,” he says. “The two of you have been dating for two years, and if you think I don’t know he’s sneaking into your room, then you obviously don’t think much of my skills.”

Stiles flushes a deep red.

John nods. “All you had to do was mention it. Or move out—but you seem to like living here. Which means I’d like it if your boyfriend could use the front door. And maybe you could put up some tapestries, or some of that sound insulating corkboard. Anything, Stiles. Please. It was bad enough when it was just you and your computer when you were fifteen.”

“Dad—” Stiles chokes on air.

John smiles slightly as he picks up his paper again. “Just give Derek the key, son. And remind him he can call me John. All right?”

Stiles is still staring at the key in his hand. “Is that why you… I thought you were going deaf!”

John winces, shakes his head. “Not deaf, son. Just trying to drown out the ambient noise. I’ll see you both for dinner tonight.” He folds up the paper, lays it neatly on the table before he drains the rest of his coffee. “I’ll see you at the station. Better get yourself showered and fed, Stiles. I hear your boss doesn’t like it when you’re late.”

“You’re my boss,” Stiles manages to say, and John grins.

“And I’m still the best Sheriff you’ve ever known.” John hears the sputtering behind him, knows Stiles is still trying to figure out how he knew. It’s funny how kids never seem to think their parents know anything, when any idiot would’ve known what’s going on. Ought to be interesting when Stiles tells Derek. Maybe John’ll actually get a night’s peace out of it.

Nah, probably not.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
